"How could a movie released 57 years earlier resonate so fully with a teenager bred on the immediacy of YouTube personalities and memes? Simple, good writing is good writing. Writing that trusts the audience and presents them with recognizable surprise, new takes on the experiences we have every day will stand the test of time. We recognize the players and the situations, but the lens through which they present it underlines a familiar and often universal experience in a surprising way. This is at the heart of A Few of Our Favorite Things, Jen Childs and Tony Braithwaite’s newest cabaret."

When I first began dreaming up The Puzzle, my son was very young. I was living in a bizarre world of unusual behaviors that became my norm, and aside from the pain and worry and sadness, there was joy and laughter. It felt like I was living in some absurd play that constantly swung between that pain and laughter. There were so many stories of children 'coming out of autism' and recovering completely. I believed that we would be able to bring our son out of his autism, too. I wanted to document this journey in a play about solving a puzzle from the perspective of a boy with autism.

"Widener is a unique place. The school was founded in 1902 and is specifically for students with physical, medical and mental disabilities. The student body represents a wide range of abilities and socio-economic backgrounds. Regardless of a student’s individual needs, the goal is to help each pupil reach their potential through the various programming and therapy offered at Widener. 1812 Outreach gets to be a variable in that equation once a week throughout the school year."

"I suddenly launch into a speech about imagination, about how you can see things without ‘seeing’ them. I make everyone close their eyes and imagine Paris. I talk about how for the next 30 minutes we will use our imaginations, that in this class there are no tests, there are no books, that we are here to have fun, and that imagination is at the very soul of human experience. That we all possess it, and especially when we were children, and that we’ve been told it’s stupid or not cool, but we still have it, buried beneath us."

"Saying no, for me, was an act of self-preserving selfishness. A revolutionary act. To choose my needs over others. To return to that wonderful safe place that we all have access to, but so often run away from. To return to the self."

"The trip to Philadelphia for workshops and rehearsals gave me a break from the day to day hustle of being a new mom. Writing the music helped me to know myself, again, as an artist and composer. It also meant that I got to make new connections and spend valuable time with my dear 1812 friends."

"The first rehearsal for a collaborative piece is always slightly nerve wracking for me as a designer. I am walking into a room where there is already a dynamic in place, and it is even worse when everyone is funny and smart. This Is The Week That Is is a show that’s been annually happening longer than I have lived in Philadelphia; if my puzzle piece is to properly fit into this institution I have to go above and beyond as a designer, and get into the brains of these people who are churning out the characters..."

"I guess what I love about this play is that it's very tightly written. The comedy is punchy, the characters are very vivid, and from this bizarre opening premise of this weird detail of Barbra's mall/basement, we get to plunge into a world where all the characters are sympathetic and flawed and complicated."

On November 23, 1963 the cast of the British political satire show, THAT WAS THE WEEK THAT WAS, scrapped all the material they had written that week, went on live television and publicly mourned JFK who had been assassinated the day before. There were no jokes, just tearful and sincere testimonials about an American president these Brits described as a “gigantic marvelous present”.

I make my way to South Philly to meet for the interview. When I arrived, I could hear the rehearsal. This was the first run-through with an audience that consisted of the production team. I wanted to walk in but chose to listen through the door. I heard about ten minutes or so of the ending. He’s ready and I do not plan to waste his time.

Jilline was always the smartest person in the room. Her Bryn Mawr pedigree, love of the Greeks, inexhaustible knowledge of movies and songs from bygone eras as well as religious iconography was inspiring. I think of that 1970’s Enjoli perfume commercial, where a sexy woman in purple sauntered toward the camera with a frying pan while a songstress crooned, ‘I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never let you forget you’re a man.’

I’ve been an audience member and fan of 1812’s since Box Office of the Damned. A year later, Jen Childs was my acting teacher at the University of the Arts and I always wanted to work with her and this company. I’ve never recovered from losing the part of Batboy to that damn Ben Dibble. (Who knows, if I had landed that role, maybe I wouldn’t be designing today.)

Having a partner in crime is important. Even though I am the solo performer for “The Vicissitudes of Travel,” my director and co-creator Karen Getz is there with me every step of the way in the conception and writing process...

Jen Childs and I were sitting in the balcony of Plays & Players during the run of The Carols last season when she told me that she'd been thinking for a year or two about this Barbra Streisand play by Jonathan Tolins. I'd heard of it when Michael Urie did it in New York in 2013, and I said it sounded like fun...